


Hooked

by sneetchstar



Series: Arya x Gendry Week 2020 [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, anger issues, axg week 2020, traumatic childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Gendry has a secret talent that he is a little nervous to tell Arya about
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Arya x Gendry Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862086
Comments: 15
Kudos: 116





	Hooked

**Author's Note:**

> Sixth prompt for Arya x Gendry Week 2020: Secret Talents

When Gendry finally screwed up his courage and asked Arya Stark out, he hoped he would make a good enough impression on her to merit at least a second date.

Two months later, he’s happier than he’s ever been and pretty sure he’s completely in love with this amazing woman, a giant in a pint-sized body. She’s simply the most wonderful and fascinating person he’s ever met, and he counts himself lucky every day that he wakes up and she’s still in his life.

She’s due to come over any minute now, and he is pacing. He no longer gets nervous waiting to see her, but he’s decided today to tell her something he has never told anyone.

In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t a _big_ secret. It’s just _his_ secret and it’s something about him no one in King’s Landing knows.

If he thinks logically, he knows it’s no big deal. She has proven to have an endless supply of kindness and the largest heart of anyone he knows, outside of his adoptive parents.

But logic doesn’t often come into play when dealing with anxiety.

So Gendry paces.

Just when he decides to start biting his fingernails, the buzzer sounds. He nearly jumps out of his skin before racing to the door to buzz her up to his flat.

He is waiting in the doorway when she appears.

 _Gods, she looks beautiful_. The sight of her settles him somewhat, the way her eyes twinkle when she smiles at him, that special smile she keeps only for him.

“Hey,” she says, lifting on tiptoe to kiss him.

“Hi,” he replies, ushering her inside, where he closes and locks the door. He sees she has brought a bag with her, so he assumes she’s staying the night.

For now, anyway.

_Don’t be stupid. She’s not going to leave you because of this._

“Drink?” he asks, leaning towards the kitchen.

“Sure,” she answers, plopping down on the sofa, where she starts taking her boots off. He brings her drink, then sits beside her, fingers drumming on his legs. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

He sighs. She’s always been far too intuitive. “I have something to tell you,” he says. He’s never been much for beating around the bush, and, in the past, she has appreciated his directness.

“Okay,” she replies, looking over at him. She bites her lower lip. “Should I be worried?”

“I… I don’t _think_ so,” he answers. He reaches for his bottle and takes a long pull from it. When he sets it back on the table, he sees her watching him, waiting. Not pushing. Waiting for him to be ready to tell her whatever he wants to tell her. He turns to face her, and the whole speech he practiced flies out of his head. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I had it all planned out in my head, and…”

She takes his hand in hers. “Just tell me, Gendry,” she softly says. “I don’t know what it is that has you all tied up in knots, but please tell me.”

He looks at her small hand in his, then up at her. Then his eyes drift to the side, to the afghan neatly hanging over the back of the couch. He reaches over and places his free hand on it.

“I told you my mum made this, right?” he asks.

“Yes. Your adoptive mum though, not your real mum,” she says.

He nods. “I lied. She didn’t make it. I did.”

Arya’s eyebrows rise. “You did?” She reaches over to touch it now, running her hand over the expertly twisted yarn. “It’s beautiful, Gendry. It really is. Is this what you’ve been torturing yourself over telling me? That you knit?”

Gendry nods. “And crochet.” 

She smiles. “That’s… kind of adorable actually,” she says. “How did you get into that?”

He doesn’t return her smile, because there’s more to the story and he needs her to know everything. “It started out as therapy,” he says. “It still is therapy, actually.”

“Okay,” she responds with a slight nod.

“You already know I have pretty bad anxiety,” he starts, and she nods again. “When I was a kid, it came out as anger. I used to hit things. Mostly walls. Sometimes furniture. One time it was a window. Twice it was other people. Even when Mum and Dad had been fostering me for longer than anyone else had, it continued. Even when they adopted me, it still didn’t go away. So they took me to a therapist, looking for help.”

Arya squeezes his hand, looking down at the scars on his knuckles, scars she assumed he had gotten from his years working as a mechanic to help pay for his education. Davos and Marya Seaworth are wonderful people, but they are not rich.

“They didn’t want to medicate me because I was so young. I think I was around 12 at the time. But we tried different ways to channel my stress and anxiety into something other than violence. Some things helped a little, and I learned to… hit things that were soft, like my bed or pillows. Or I tried to, anyway. They talked about boxing lessons or marital arts classes, but mum and dad really couldn’t afford them, as much as they wanted to.”

He looks at Arya, and she is still simply watching him, listening without judging. He can see that she is touched that he is sharing this with her, and it bolsters him enough to continue.

“Mum crochets. She makes baby blankets with a group of ladies at her church, and they donate the blankets to hospitals for newborns,” he says. “One night, I started watching her. I don’t know why I did, but I sat down beside her and just watched. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions of her hands, and I was quiet and settled for a long time before she realized something was happening.”

“What did she do?” Arya whispers, like she’s afraid if she speaks too loud, she’ll break the spell.

“She asked me if I wanted to learn,” Gendry answers. “I said no. I said no for a solid week, watching her every night until she came home from the shops on Saturday with this,” he picks a well-worn red metal crochet hook up off the side table and shows it to her, “and a few skeins of red yarn. Red was my favorite color. She told me she talked to my therapist and they decided I should definitely try it myself.” He absently twirls the crochet hook between his fingers while he talks. “At first I was mad because she talked to my therapist. He was _my_ therapist, and she talked to him without me, and that made me mad. But Dad got me to see reason and so I tried it. I was immediately—”

“Hooked?” Arya supplies with a grin.

“I was trying _so_ hard not to say that,” he says with a short laugh. “But yeah. I made an awful red scarf for myself. It was ugly and the stitches were uneven and it was crooked and one end was somehow wider than the other, but I wore that thing until it literally fell apart,” he says with a small smile. She sweetly smiles up at him, and he squeezes her hand. “But I got better. And started making blankets for the babies, too.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” she says.

“Mum and her church friends would get together once a month to work on the blankets together, just to visit and stuff. She started inviting me along. I always said no.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t talk when I work. I didn’t want to sit there while they were all gossiping away and not talk, looking like I was unfriendly – don’t say it, I know I’m unfriendly – or just there to eavesdrop. Plus I was a little embarrassed. I was probably 13 by then, maybe 14. And when you’re that age, everything embarrasses you. And besides, what 13-year-old boy wants to hang out with a bunch of middle-aged church ladies?” he asks, and Arya chuckles.

“Anyway, Mum always made sure to give me the credit when one of them would praise my work. Eventually I decided to step it up and try knitting, figuring using two sticks would be more of a challenge,” he says.

“Was it?”

He smiles. “Not really. Not by that point. I still make the baby blankets. When I have about five made, I put them in a package together and mail them over to Mum, and she takes them to the hospitals for me.” He looks down. “I haven’t gotten up the courage to ask at the hospitals here.”

“That’s incredibly sweet, Gendry,” she says. “Why were you so worried about telling me all this?”

He takes both her hands in his. “Because I haven’t ever told anyone this. The only people that know about it are Mum and Dad. And about seven old ladies at a church in Cape Wrath.”

“Why did you decide to tell me?”

“Because I want you to know,” he simply says. “I… I know it will be safe with you. Not in the sense that I’m worried about my reputation being ruined if this gets out, but that… _I_ feel safe with you.” He snorts a humorless laugh. “Funny, considering I’m twice your size.”

“That’s not funny at all,” she says. “It makes complete sense to me.” She moves closer, and he wraps his arm around her, tucking her against his side.

“I also know that if for some reason you were to ever break up with me, you wouldn’t try to embarrass me by using this information in an unkind way. That’s not you,” he says.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” she agrees. A second later, she looks up at him. “What do you mean, if _I_ break up with _you_?”

He gives her a small smile and says, “Arya, there is no way in any of the seven hells that I am ever going to break up with you.”

“But didn’t you just say you knew I wouldn’t try to—”

“Not because of that. Because you’re bloody wonderful and I—” he breaks off, coming just short of telling her he loves her. He didn’t weird her out with his hidden talent and its origins, and he doesn’t want to scare her away by telling her he loves her after dating for only two months.

“Gendry?” she asks, leaning up to brush a kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah?”

“Would you make me something?”

He finally smiles. “I already did,” he says, easing away from her to walk back to his room. He comes back a moment later with a large afghan and hands it to her.

“Oh…” she breathes, running her hand over it. “Gods, this is so soft,” she says. It’s gray, black, and white in wide zigzag stripes, and it’s _huge_.

“I picked the plushest yarn I could find for it because I know you like being cozy,” he says.

She smiles up at him, and he thinks her eyes look a little watery. Then she moves, swinging her leg over to straddle his lap as she wraps the blanket around her shoulders, shrouding them both. Then she leans down and gives him a slow, thorough kiss.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his lips. “I love it. And I love that you wanted to share all that with me.”

“You’re not put off? By the fact that I used to be violent?” he asks.

“Not at all. You had a rough start in life, and you have every right and reason to feel the things you feel. You didn’t _choose_ to be this way, but you have chosen to deal with it and find a way to change it into something good,” she says. Then she cocks her head at him. “My sister is an OB/GYN, you know.”

His eyes widen. “Oh shit, that’s right, she is!” he exclaims.

“If you wanted to start giving blankets to the hospitals here, I’d be more than happy to ask her about it. I’d even drop them off for you if you weren’t ready to do that yet,” she offers.

“That would… that would be really good. I bet there’s probably an even bigger need for them here in King’s Landing than there is in the Stormlands.”

“Probably,” she agrees, then leans forward, cuddling against his chest.

“Arya?”

“Hmm?”

“Do _you_ have any hidden talents?”

She is quiet long enough for him to know that she definitely does.

“Out with it, Stark,” he prompts. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

She leans back and raises a saucy eyebrow at him, but still says nothing.

“Well?”

She sighs. “I can juggle,” she admits. His eyes grow wider than she’s ever seen them, and she laughs. “Shut up; it’s embarrassing.”

“That’s… so cool!” he exclaims, lifting her from his lap to go in search of something she can use. “I need to see.”

“No, don’t make me,” she whines.

“I absolutely am going to make you,” he calls from his room. She can hear him rummaging around somewhere, and flops sideways on the couch.

When he returns with three hacky sacks, she stands up and sighs. “You’re right. Fair’s fair,” she says, taking the three small beanbags. “I’m a little rusty.”

“I don’t care,” he says, sitting down to watch.

“Okay, but after this, I want to see you knit. Or crochet. Just… whatever you’re currently working on. I want to see you in action,” she counters.

“Fair enough,” he agrees. “Now. Dazzle me with your skills.”

She snorts, but starts tossing the bags in the air. She’s a little slow at first but quickly settles into a solid rhythm. She even gets brave and does the thing where she throws one over the top.

“That. Is. Outstanding,” Gendry declares, and she stops.

“Really?” Arya asks.

“Really,” he confirms, broadly smiling at her. “Come here.”

She sets the beanbags on the table and returns to his lap. “Mine seems extra silly compared to how deep and meaningful yours turned out to be,” she says.

“Nothing wrong with extra silly,” he replies, pulling her close to kiss her again. They lose themselves for a long minute of decadent kissing before Gendry pulls away just a little. “Arya?” he whispers against her lips, eyes still closed.

“Yeah?” she breathes, not moving away.

“I think I love you,” he quietly says. “I know it’s too soon, but… yeah, I love you.”

“Open your eyes,” she says, and he does, the bright blue boring into her. “I love you too,” she says, then wraps her afghan around them again before returning her lips to his.


End file.
